I Wasn't Prepared for Bikepacking in Kyrgyzstan

Hey, I'm Zach. I've never been bikepacking before, nor have I ever traveled solo, so naturally I found myself doing both of these bucket list items in 30 hours and 12,000 Ks from home in Kyrgyzstan. I didn't really have a goal except to jump on my bike and explore the Tian Shan mountain range near China. Why? Maybe I have a couple of screws loose, or maybe I wanted to do something a bit different to really test myself. I also wanted to tell the story of what I observed. After landing in Bishkek, getting to my room and caffeinating, my first job was to build my bike, checking for any damage on the trip over. Luckily enough, despite the box falling apart the moment I touched it at the airport, everything inside seemed to be in good order. Next was a visit to the Osh Bazaar to buy food for my time in the mountains. Riding there, the first thing I noticed was the smell. The bazaar is jam-packed with freshly cooked food, baked bread, spices and dried fruit and nuts. In my tired state, the sensory up cut was more than welcome and after getting food for the ride, prioritising horse meat sausages, I did an extra lap just taking the sights, the colour and the variety. The bread scene was unrivalled. Seeing the freshly baked breads and pastries everywhere, I couldn't help but think of my dad and how he would go to town on the stalls. The rest of the day was spent doing the obligatory admin like getting a sim. I loved Bishkek. It was clean, easy to navigate and backed by epic mountains. Earlier the next morning, I was off, down south, to finally start my ride. After clearing the traffic, I settled in, enjoying the scenery. After months of prep, training, ruminating and ticking item after item off the checklist, I was done. I was on my way and as prepared as I could be. Driving through the mountains and around the Lake Issyk-Kul, my driver dropped me off and waved goodbye. That was it. I was alone, except with a couple I met 10 minutes into my ride. Okay, now I was off. As soon as I hit gravel I quickly learned what would prove to be the most difficult part of my ride, my gear. My front fork bags were and I paid the price for 600k's losing hours repairing. The repeated bouncing kept making the attachments loose and was a massive frustration. There wasn't really a choice except to pretend like I wasn't on the verge of having a tantrum and keep going. Finally getting into the mountains on my bike was a mix of relief with a sprinkling of respectful worry. It was my first ever taste of this kind of terrain and I was loving it. The size of the peaks surrounding me as I peddled through the valley was absolutely mind-blowing, a feeling that would remain a constant undertone throughout the trip but one I'd never grow tired of. It really hammered home how tiny and insignificant I am as I meandered through this far-flung, remote valley. I set up camp under a boulder with an overhang, not far from the road. In a world home to bears, wolves and snow leopards, I figured camping a few hundred meters from a yurt near some cattle was a good idea. You know there's no such thing as originality. The underside of the boulder was blackened from countless fires over time and in a place with so much history I wondered who had been there before me as I drifted off to sleep. When I set off the next day I knew I was in for some climbing but was almost surprised by what was required of me. It turned out to be one of the physically hardest days I've ever had. I hiked my bike up mountains for close to eight hours always between seven and twenty percent incline on a path that was never not covered with rocks making it impossible to Did I second guess myself? Absolutely. Repeatedly. Realistically though I didn't have a choice but to keep going so that's what I did. As I got higher off the valley floor the mountains became tighter, drier and the vegetation more sparse. It was remote, stark and absolutely stunning. Hitting the Annabelle Plateau was such a relief and an epic sense of ticking the first big hurdle off. I was rooted but filled with a bubbling sense of achievement. Being able to actually ride was something I wasn't going to take for granted. I did another 15km before setting up camp surrounded by ice capped mountains at 3800m. I live roughly 40 meters above sea level so waking up to a world of ice definitely isn't the norm for me. Though waking up is an exaggeration after a shocking night's sleep. Everything was frozen including my shoes which hadn't dried from the day before. There was nothing to it but to enjoy a few coffees and wait for everything to defrost as the sun ever so slowly popped through the mountains, warming my shoes and my soul. My home of Australia has an epic coffee culture. It can be hard to find a bad caffeine dealer almost anywhere. I would challenge them though to brew the feeling I had perched on top of this rock, sipping instant coffee, waiting for my shoes and bones to defrost. I was profoundly alone, cold and empowered to be doing something a bit On no one's time but my own, with my two wheels and shitty front fork bags. The night before flying out, my partner began to worry about the altitude. Asking the internet. Obviously she began to fear and expect the worst for me at 3800. Disorientation, headaches, dizziness, fatigue, difficulty thinking clearly. My natural frame of mind whenever faced with a hypothetical is that obviously I'll be fine. All gas, no brakes. Naive? Perhaps, but a tablespoon of naivety made the whole trip possible. As I cruised the Annabelle Plateau I was waiting for any of these symptoms but they didn't come. I chalked it up as a win for the good guys. On the plateau was the first time I experienced the warmth of the people of Kyrgyzstan. I've traveled to Mongolia where the people are way more standoffish and to Southeast Asia where tourists are seen more as a dollar sign. Oh throughout my trip I was surprised at the response I would get. Just riding my bike through small towns or high mountain passes, people would run me down to say hello, stop on the side of the road to try and give me drinks, shout greetings at me constantly and invite me in for tea and homemade food. Their generosity was super humbling. I can see this going terribly. I even spent my birthday freezing my ass off drinking vodka with locals at Tashrabat who invited me in for no other reason than that was how they roll. Hello! I also helped to pull a horse out of a well. The riding off to the plateau was a dream. I was still in the mountains and whilst there was plenty of incline the scenery was just second to none. I followed rivers and valleys through passes that have been used for thousands of years. I settled into a rhythm that ate up the k's almost accidentally. At the start of each day I would set a small goal or plan to have a rest day and then all of a sudden I'd be 60 or 80 k's down the road and finding somewhere to sleep. I've always had an inner urge, a curiosity to go just a bit further. Whenever I'm in the outdoors, whether it's hunting, hiking or spearfishing, that voice is always pushing. I want to see what's over the next ridge, what animals around the next corner, what fish are around the next reef, what the view will be like once we hit that peak. And when I get there, rather than the satisfaction of satiating that curiosity, it repeats itself. It says to me, well, maybe that thing you're looking for is just over the next one. Normally I have company or a time limit to slow me down and keep me in check. Someone who doesn't want to keep going and might just want to enjoy an hour or two, or some commitments I need to see to. Well, out here I was left unchecked. One of those unchecked days landed me at my most memorable spot, an Ibex hunting camp. Surrounded by crazy mountains, I met some Saudis and learned about their life. I sat and drank tea with them, and they invited me to sit and relax while they prayed, which was an honor. I slept on the floor in the same room as an older couple and used Google Translate to learn about them. I was told about the massive wolves, bears and snow leopards in the area. They told me that predators don't like unbathed dozzies so I'd be safe in my tent. When I asked them if they'd ever actually seen a snow leopard they replied in the affirmative and they gave me a look that said, man how have you not seen one? If only. As the days ticked over I watched the scenery change before The tight, bright green valleys had moved into a drier, semi-arid steppe, reminding me of Mongolia. I'd spend hours in the zone, torn between choosing the most scenic lunch spot in the world and wondering what was around the bend. I began to reflect whilst being in the moment, looking back on my trip before it was even over, wondering what I would regret or wish for a redo. I began to ponder on the country I was blessed to be able to enjoy. I imagined the ancient caravans of traders wandering through the area with precious goods and I could almost see the effect that had had as an old silk road path. Kyrgyzstan was such a melting pot of so many different peoples and cultures welcoming outsiders enthusiastically. I learned a heap about the cultures in a country a lot of people haven't even heard of. I learned how proud they are and also how accommodating. I learned of different ways of life so far removed from my own that it seemed so alien that it could be fiction. I got the chance to explore towns that weren't on any map and a terrain that looked edited. If I hadn't seen the beauty myself I would have found it hard to comprehend. My bike took me places. So many places. So many terrains. Ups and downs. Both literally and figuratively. Having the chance to live out of my bags gave me the chance to look at life through a different lens. A lens of harsh simplicity. It was either useful to me or it got the flick. Which became a view I wished to take home with me, though maybe not in the same extreme. And me? Yeah, I learned a lot about myself. Countless hours of time in your own head will do that, I guess. I hiked my bike for more hours than I could have imagined, and I rode my bike for less than I would have liked. I learned that even without a crazy amount of training I can push myself more than I realized. I also learned that perhaps a day off every now and then isn't a bad idea. Most importantly, I learned that experiences like these are best shared. There are only so many times I can appreciate eagles flying nearby or mountain streams coming straight from the towering source or the kindness of strangers on my own.